


That Place On The Corner

by clytemnestras



Series: Star Girls In Sweatpants [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/F, Stargirls Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Rose Tyler and Caroline Forbes run a tiny cafe on the road to nowhere</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Place On The Corner

_"You have of the wolf in you"_

A feral beast all wrapped up in hot pink sweatpants, howling up at starlight (not moonlight) to go running free again. But no. ( _no really, really no._ )

That is not Rose Tyler, that's a hole in the ground and a rip in space and power with claws that can't get let off its leash again. People _die_ when she gets loose. People _live_.

So no more a wolf than a domestic little puppy dog who fetches tea and scones for the weary and well-travelled, jogging after sunset to feel the unknowing of darkness rush along her skin, wrapping arms around her girlfriend and nuzzling her neck and falling asleep warm and contented and not at all scared. She's forgotten what a thrill fear is. ( _and that's a good thing, yes?_ )

**

_"You're just another monster"_

A leech in a mini skirt and blow-dried hair and light-pink ballet pumps, jumping at speeding heartbeats and desperate to let rip. But no. ( _oh God, please no, please._ )

That is not Caroline Forbes, that's a lack of control, wild and spiraling that rips apart everything she is and leaves carnage in it's wake. She's a _murderer_. She _lives for it._

So no more ripping throats out for the thrill, spill and fill of it. Just gentle little kisses ( _and sometimes less-than-gentle little love bites_ ), baking muffins and lemon drizzle cake, flour spattered over snowy skin like the ghosts of past, pouring coffee for the freedom seekers and cleaning up the splashes that dirty the counter and sleeping beside someone who's wild and docile and dead and alive and everything she loves all at the same time. She can't remember the last person she killed. ( _and isn't that bad? where's your conscience now?_ )

**

She fills the vase with water and pansies ( _never roses_ ) and plonks one down on every table, pretending she can't hear it smash along with screeching tyres and the wheezing breaths of a time machine.

She sniffs back tears and smiles at Caroline who pins a rose into her pale hair.

**

She spoons a dollop of cream into the bowl, then a dollop of jam, pretending that the thick, sticky red doesn't keep her up at night and cling to her fingers, less sweet, more copper and awful and damning.

She brushes a small spot of jam off of Rose's nose and licks it off her thumb, giggling for a second like there's no world outside.

**

She takes the wet clothes out of the machine and throws them on the radiator, picking through Caroline's vests that have pinkish-red stains. They go in the sink, along with some more washing powder and a drop or two of gel. She scrubs at them without saying a word.

**

She pulls open the curtains in the morning, to feel the Sun on her face for a couple of minutes before Rose wakes up. Her girlfriend prefers the night to the day, likes to watch the stars. Caroline likes the Sun so she can feel a little warmer. Then Rose creeps up behind her and she's burning up under the hands that circle her waist. She shuts the curtains and climbs back into bed.

**  
She turns on the telly and makes tea. Caroline shifts back and forth on her stool, desperate for a reason - to do something, anything, so Rose stands behind her girl and begins to plait the long blonde hair. Care just sits and watches the TV mindlessly, waiting for customers who don't arrive.

**

She follows Rose on her moonlight run, missing the wind in her hair. She's backed against a tree, the bark rough against her shoulders and they're kissing and panting and ripping each other to shreds.

Because sometimes, when they are alone, the beasts come out and claw and bite and howl. And then they walk home with leaves tangled in their hair and curl up like kittens in front of the TV.

They pretend like being normal is all they were meant to be, and that they aren't from wild universes never meant to collide. They survive.


End file.
